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<title>Mon Rayon De Soleil by WolfieOnAO3</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582968">Mon Rayon De Soleil</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfieOnAO3/pseuds/WolfieOnAO3'>WolfieOnAO3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Brewer's Dictionary of Short Stories [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Affectionate Bickering, Air Guitar, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Paris - Freeform, Road Trip, The Rolling Stones - Freeform, brewer's dictionary of phrase and fable, brewer's dictionary writing challenge, happy crowley, shameless pointless ridiulous fluff, wild horses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:28:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582968</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfieOnAO3/pseuds/WolfieOnAO3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>‘Crowley, please could you refrain from playing </i>air guitar<i> whilst driving Heaven only knows how many miles per hour. It isn’t safe.</i></p><p>Crowley is many things, but a careful driver is not one of them. Luckily for him, wild horses (or reckless driving) couldn't drive his besotted angel away.</p><p>For the Brewer's Prompt: Wild Horse</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Brewer's Dictionary of Short Stories [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mon Rayon De Soleil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">

        <li>
          Translation into Français available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318853">Mon Rayon De Soleil</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likia/pseuds/Likia">Likia</a>
        </li>


    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i>Wild Horse</i><br/>An undomesticated horse, one that has not been broken in. The phrase is mostly found in the expression ‘Wild horses would not drag your secret from me’ (and variants), meaning ‘I’ll never tell it.’<br/>- Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A lone rabbit pricked up her ears, twitched her whiskers, and then leapt into the hedegrow beside the road.</p><p>Ten seconds later, the calm quiet of the early morning was broken by the rumbling roar of a 1926 Bentley as it careened down the A2 through Shorne Woods to the soundtrack of <em> The Rolling Stones </em> ft. <em> A.J. Crowley. </em></p><p>‘♫<em> Let’s do some liiiiviiiiiiiing…. Ahhhhfter we’ve die-ied.... Wiiiiiiiild ho-o-orseeeeees! Couldn’t drag me awaaaaaay! </em>♫‘</p><p>Aziraphale winced. ‘Crowley, please could you refrain from playing <em> air guitar </em> whilst driving Heaven only knows how many miles per hour. It isn’t <em> safe </em>.’</p><p>'♫<em>WIIIILD HORSES!’</em>♫‘ More air guitar. ♫‘‘<em>WE WILL RI-I-IDE THEM SOME DAY-EEE!</em>♫'</p><p>The angel clicked his tongue to his teeth and gripped the passenger-side grab-bar all the more tightly. ‘Riding wild horses would no doubt be a good deal safer than riding in this blasted death-trap with you…’ he muttered, only half-under his breath.</p><p>The music faded away to the received pronunciation of the BBC newscaster, and Crowley turned the volume down. </p><p>‘What did you just call my car?’</p><p>‘Oh? My apologies, dear boy. I was under the impression that my voice had ceased to be audible. You seemed to be having trouble listening to me.’</p><p>‘You called my car a death trap!’</p><p>‘It <em> is </em> a death trap. How we both haven’t been discorporated by now is beyond my ken.’</p><p>‘Ah, the Bentley wouldn’t let anything happen to us, angel. Would you, Bentley? Who’s a good car?’ As he spoke, Crowley patted the dashboard affectionately.</p><p>‘You talk about it as if it were alive.’</p><p>‘Don’t talk about her like that, as if she weren’t here!’ Crowley cupped his hands over the car’s indicator switches as though they were ears. ‘She’ll get upset and drive us into a ditch, then you’ll really have something to worry about, angel.’</p><p>‘Please put your hands back on the wheel, Crowley! Good Lord...’</p><p>Laughing, the demon did as he was asked, He shot a rakish grin at the angel and Aziraphale softened in spite of himself, reluctantly, inevitably. Crowley brought it out in him. He did his best not to smile back like the old fool he knew himself to be.</p><p>‘Hmm.  You are quite the ray of sunshine today…’</p><p>‘Mm? Am I?’ Crowley stared out at the road ahead, the day all gold and blue and crisp, cool green in the bright morning sunshine.‘I suppose I am.’</p><p>‘Why that makes you want to discorporate us both by car crash, I have no idea,’ Aziraphale replied, just the smallest hint of playfulness dancing in his voice. ‘Your moods do manifest most bizarrely, my dear boy.’ </p><p>The crooked smile returned to the demon’s lips, coaxing dimples from his cheeks and deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes, visible in profile beneath the frames of his sunglasses. All attempt at crushing the reciprocating smile from his own face Aziraphale found suddenly futile. </p><p>‘Having second thoughts?’ Crowley asked, eyes darting between the road and the angel, the demon’s own twisted grin still glittering, all mischief and high spirits. ‘I can take you back, if you want. Not too late, you know. Not even halfway to Dover, yet. Shame to miss all of those excellent Parisian bookshops, though. And we had all of those concerts planned, too. And the food? And the <em> wine </em> ?! <em> C’est magnifique, mon ange </em> ! Terrible shame to miss out on all that. But then, if my driving is really all that bad, you couldn’t be blamed for putting your personal safety over the thrills and temptations of <em> Paris avec le démon Crowley… </em>’</p><p>‘I shall have to seriously consider it,’ Aziraphale replied with as much sobriety as he could muster. </p><p>‘Definitely. My driving is reckless at the best of times. It’s still only seven thirty am and we aren’t even the other side of Croydon yet, and I’m already full of the joys of <em> Paris in the Spring. </em> Might be better for both of us if you ditched me now, before I get chance to drive you completely up the wall.’</p><p>‘Possibly literally...’</p><p>Crowley burst out laughing, and Aziraphale shook his head with feigned exasperation. He loved the demon in all weathers of his moods, of course, but this bright, blazing happiness warmed the angel right down to his very core. He could bathe in that light forever, air-guitaring-instead-of-steering be damned.</p><p>‘And after all, <em> mon rayon de soleil </em>,’ the angel added, affection sneaking into his voice in spite of himself, ‘if the combined forces of Heaven and Hell have failed to keep me away from you, I doubt that your driving could prove more successful, terrible as it is. I am afraid you are quite stuck with me.’</p><p>‘Yeah?’</p><p>‘Dear boy, wild horses couldn’t drag me away.’</p>
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